


Touch my World with your Fingertips

by Schattengestalt



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bullying, Confident Sherlock, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FTM Sherlock Holmes, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Sherlock, Transphobia, transphobic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-08-22 09:51:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8281585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattengestalt/pseuds/Schattengestalt
Summary: Life has taught Sherlock not to trust anyone with his heart, but his resolve to keep everyone at bay wavers, when John comes into his life.    "I'm transgender." Silence greeted his words and Sherlock forced himself to remain quiet as he watched John absorb the information. "So, you are actually a woman?"





	1. Recklessness

**Author's Note:**

> Another story about trans Sherlock (my muse seems to come up with a lot of ideas to this AU). It will be three chapters long, when it's finish and I promise to try to update as fast as possible. Let me know what you think. :)
> 
>  
> 
> Trigger warning: Transphobic language and general experiences with transphobic folks in this chapter.

### Recklessness 

"Only the staircase now and then you can sit down."

 

Sherlock almost snorted at the only, but he kept quiet and instead concentrated on climbing the first of the seventeen steps, without passing out from the pain that shot through his leg with every movement. From the length of the knife, combined with the height of their suspect - not to mention from the constant pain - Sherlock had gathered that the injury ran from his right hipbone down to the knee. He had only been lucky that their suspect had missed any vital arteries - and of course that John had been right behind Sherlock to knock the man out, before he could attack Sherlock again. John wouldn't have spared Sherlock a trip to the hospital otherwise. 

 

Sherlock gritted his teeth as they reached the landing and he had to lean against the wall, while John opened the door for them. A shame that Sherlock wasn't allowed to take any morphine or at least some other effective painkillers. John would insist on Paracetamol or Ibuprofen and - if Sherlock was very lucky - he would get a local anesthesia, while his best friend stitched Sherlock back together. 

 

Sherlock glanced sideways at John, who's mouth was set in a thin line, when he grabbed Sherlock around the waist and helped him into the living-room, where he pushed Sherlock onto the couch. "Stay here. I'll get my medical kit and towels. You'll only take off your trousers when the cushions are covered with something to protect them. I don't fancy scrubbing blood out of leather." John's voice was clipped and barely restrained as he ventured in the direction of the bathroom to get the promised supplies.

 

A quiet sigh escaped Sherlock as he sat awkwardly on the couch and waited for John to come back. It didn't need a genius to figure out that John was angry with him and Sherlock had enough self-awareness to know that he had every right to feel this way. After all, Sherlock could have waited for John to catch up with him - he never waited for the police - or he could have allowed their suspect to flee in the knowledge that the man would be caught in the next forty-eight hours, due to his own stupidity. Yes, Sherlock could have done all of that and more, but then the case would have ended as boring as it had started and sometimes Sherlock just needed a little chase through London. If their suspect hadn't had a knife, then John and he would be eating Chinese now. Instead, John would snarl at Sherlock and scold him for his recklessness and Sherlock would pretend that he didn't care about his friend's opinion and they would spend the remaining evening in silence.

 

Another sigh escaped Sherlock, accompanied by a hiss as he stretched his leg without thinking. It was far from the truth that he didn't care what John thought of his actions. Actually, John's opinion was the only one that truly mattered to Sherlock, but if he allowed these emotions to show through and if John picked up on them - he could be rather observant when he shouldn't be - then Sherlock would have to explain why he cared so much and then... he would probably lose John. His friend might be open minded, but Sherlock hadn't found any evidence that indicated that John would be comfortable with the knowledge that Sherlock harbored feelings for him... feelings that were far from platonic. The knowledge could easily scare John away and that just wasn't on. Even if Sherlock could never have John in this way, he would take friendship over estrangement every day. He would just have to pretend that John's accusations - which were certainly to come - didn't bother him and the danger would be over for today.

 

As on cue, John entered the living-room, caring his medical kit, a bowl of hot water and several towels - the darkest they owned. He placed them on part of the couch, without so much as glaring at Sherlock, before he straightened back to his full height. "Coat and trousers off!"

 

Sherlock tried not to flinch at John's commanding tone, but he couldn't quite hide an unpleasant shudder, while he struggled out of his coat and dropped it to the floor, before turning his attention to his trousers. He wasn't afraid of John, when he fell back in his role as a Captain, but he hated the invisible barrier it created between them. Sherlock always felt like he wasn't more than an annoying patient to his friend, when John spoke to him like this. And especially now, when Sherlock was hurt and... No, if he allowed his weakness to show, then John would notice and ask questions, which Sherlock couldn't answer without giving himself away. Therefore, he only gritted his teeth as he got rid of the belt and then started to work his ruined trousers past his hips, without getting up.

 

John merely watched Sherlock, with his arms crossed in front of his chest, and with narrowed eyes. "You know, in a hospital, they would have helped you with this."

 

Sherlock snorted and bit down on his lower lip to stop himself from crying out, when the fabric of his trousers rubbed against the wound. He had had a lot of injuries in his time as a consulting detective, but usually he had dealt with them on his own. It had the advantage that no one had felt the need to ridicule him, when he had screamed or cried in pain. Sherlock doubted that John would laugh at him, if he gave an indication of how much the pain affected him, but his friend might think that Sherlock was only calling upon John's sympathy.

 

Sherlock let out a harsh breath, when his trousers where finally down to his knees and he was able to take them off without causing himself more pain in the process. Only then, Sherlock allowed himself to glance at the nasty cut. He had been wrong, it didn't start at his hipbone, but on his thigh, a few centimeters under the hem of his pants. A small relief, considering that Sherlock's skin was smeared with dried blood and the wound was an angry red, with shreds of fabric inserted in it. Cleaning it would be hell.

 

John must have thought along the same lines, as he leaned over to inspect the wound more closely. "They would have used local anesthesia in hospital, without you having to ask for it and they might have even given you some stronger painkillers, before I could have stopped them."

 

Sherlock glared at his injured leg and laid back on the couch, so that his leg was placed on the towels and in easy reach for John. "They would have also asked invasive questions," Sherlock muttered quietly, while John arranged his medical equipment on the table.

 

"You mean about your drug use?! You should have thought of that before playing around with cocaine." Sherlock rolled his eyes and ignored the throbbing in his leg as he threw a low level glare at John. "I don't care if they ask me about that. But I don't like for some semi competent doctor or nurse to question me about the state of my transition."

 

John didn't even bat an eye at that. "They have to know what medicaments you take or have taken in order to give you the best treatment." John's voice was still impersonal and clipped as he wet a flannel and started to clean the area around Sherlock's injury.

 

Sherlock clenched his fists and dug his fingernails into the ball of his hands, to stop the humiliating tears from falling as sparks of pain shot through his leg. "Is it also important for them to know... when I got my breasts removed or... if I'm not just confused? Do they have to ask... if I don't regret that I'll never have children? Or is it considered professional... if they... if they take off my pants to check my genitalia, while I'm incapable of stopping them?" Sherlock's voice was laced with bitterness, while the memories of countless stays at various hospitals and visits to numerous doctors ghosted through his mind. He didn't dare look at John, when his friend finished cleaning his wound and rummaged through his medical kit. Sherlock knew that John wouldn't ask transgender people such invasive questions - Sherlock had first hand proof of it - but he was certain that John also wouldn't like to think badly of his colleagues. Soon, he would tell Sherlock that he was exasperating or that it was an exception and that most doctors and nurses he knew wouldn't act like this.

 

"Sherlock." There, John was already starting to defend his nameless colleagues. "Don't flinch, that's going to hurt a little, but it will feel better afterwards."

 

Sherlock didn't have the time to make sense of these words, when something pierced the skin next to his wound. A pleasant numbness started spreading through Sherlock's leg and he relaxed back into the cushions as the worst pain abated. He hadn't realised just how tense he had been, until his muscles relaxed slowly.

 

"You injected me with a local anesthesia." It wasn't a question, but when Sherlock turned his head, he saw John nodding quietly as his friend lowered himself on the floor next to the couch. "We have to wait, until it has taken full effect and then I can clean it properly and stitch you back together, although there will likely be a scar."

 

Sherlock nodded - he had known that - and then remained silent, just enjoying the feeling of spreading numbness, where pain had surged through his veins seconds ago. "Why did you change your mind?" John frowned quietly up at him and Sherlock sighed as he elaborated. "I could tell that you weren't going to give me anything to numb the pain, because you were angry that I ran off without you and refused to go to a hospital on top of it. So, why... It's not pity, is it?"

 

God, Sherlock hoped it wasn't. He didn't want John to pity Sherlock for what he had gone through during his transition and for how he had been treated by some idiots. It was over and done and Sherlock had deleted most stupid remarks - only choosing to remember a few to remind him that trusting wasn't always an advantage - and what others thought of him didn't bother him anymore. Not only about him being transgender - although not many people in Sherlock's life knew about his gender identity - but also about his fascination for crime scenes and experiments. Therefore, no reason for John to pity Sherlock and he hoped that his friend saw it the same way. It would only make things awkward if John started walking on eggshells around him.

 

Thankfully, John shook his head at Sherlock's question, even as a faint blush colored his cheeks at the same time. "No, it's not pity, but... I should have given you something for your pain right away and instead... I was a right bastard, because I assumed you wanted to make my life miserable by insisting that I should treat you at home. If I had known..." John clenched his fists and Sherlock realised that he was angry. Not angry at Sherlock, but angry on Sherlock's behalf and how he had been treated in the past.

 

"You didn't know," Sherlock sighed and gestured for John to get back to work on his leg. "And I doubt that you would have ordered to put a transgender man in a room full of women, because he was assigned female at birth."

 

It was good that John was only cleaning the wound with hydrogen peroxide at this point, instead of stitching, or the needle would have missed its mark, when he jerked upright in shock. "They didn't do that?!"

 

The question wasn't filled with disbelief, but with outrage and Sherlock allowed himself a second to imagine John giving his former doctor a piece of his mind, before he replied with a sneer. "He did and then he told the women in the room with me that I was put together with them, because I didn't... have a penis and that I could still be considered one of them, although I didn't have breasts anymore."

 

Sherlock only noticed that he was shaking with remembered, helpless rage, when John's hand squeezed his shoulder in a comforting gesture. "I'm sorry that you had to put up with that, it's... he should have been sued for treating a patient like this. There is no excuse for how he insulted you and I know that it's over, but," Sherlock watched fascinated as John took a deep breath to calm himself down. "I wish I had been there, back then to let this bastard know..."

 

"I wouldn't have been at the hospital, if you had been with me, back then," Sherlock reminded his friend with a smirk and even managed to coax a laugh out of John.

 

"Right," John nodded and reached for a small needle. "And I'll never again force you to go to hospital, if an injury isn't life threatening or force you to endure pain, when I have the means to numb it." There was a brief silence, in which John sterilized the needle once more and then - just before setting the first stitch - murmured: "I'm sorry that I acted like such an idiot and I'm... I`m glad that you trust me... as your friend and as your doctor."

 

Sherlock was glad that John had to concentrate on his handwork, so that he couldn't notice the sappy look that crossed Sherlock's face as he remembered just how he had come to place so much trust in John.

 

"Good morning."

Sherlock nodded to John on his way to the kitchen counter and then stopped dead in his tracks, when he spotted an extra mug of steaming tea. He raised an eyebrow at John, who barely glanced up from his breakfast - or early lunch, considering that it was past eleven - and shrugged. "I heard you in the bathroom and I thought that a nice cup of tea is always the best way to start your day, especially after such a night."

Sherlock blinked slowly. No one - especially not his former flatmates - had ever prepared tea for him. Not even after he had landed himself in hospital and had to wear a splint for a couple of weeks. Last night hadn't even been this spectacular - injury wise - if you didn't count the bad cabbie and John's perfectly aimed shot through two windows.

Sherlock's eyes flickered to John, who was busy buttering another toast and who could easily be confused with any other boring man in his thirties - especially dressed as he was in such a horrible jumper - but Sherlock knew that he wasn't like most people. Maybe not as extraordinary as Sherlock, but still special. John would make a perfect flatmate for Sherlock and he might even be willing to help him with his cases, but firstly... Sherlock sighed inwardly and added two spoonfuls of sugar and a splash of milk to his tea, before he sat down opposite his potential flatmate.

"John," Sherlock started and closed his hands around the mug to keep them steady - he hated these types of conversations. "I have to tell you something, before we sign the rental agreement."

Light blue eyes looked calmly up at him. "If that's about the fingers in the fridge, I have already noticed them, as well as the ears, by the way. I know that you are a scientist, but... I would prefer if you labeled the body parts in the future." The speech was delivered with absolute calm and Sherlock almost gaped at John. No one had ever accepted body parts in the fridge like this. Even his mother had screamed at Sherlock occasionally and Mycroft had been utterly disgusted - one reason why Sherlock always left at least one experiment in the fridge. His former flatmates had all run away from Sherlock after a month and only the last one - Stephen - had lasted three months, before he had left in disgust as well, although it hadn't been aimed at Sherlock's experiments. The train of thought brought Sherlock back as to why this conversation with John was so important and he took a small sip of his tea to calm his nerves as he returned John's grin with a small smile of his own. "That's not about body parts, experiments or chasing murderers. It's rather more... personal."

John's eyes narrowed at that and Sherlock noticed the exact moment, when he slipped in his role as a doctor as his gaze swept over Sherlock. "Are you ill? Some chronic disease I mean. The Detective Inspector mentioned drug use, yesterday, if you caught something... I'm a doctor, I know how to handle these things. I'm not going to change my mind if you...."

"No, I'm not ill." Sherlock interrupted John, although his words warmed him, but he would never get to the important part, if he allowed John to keep on talking. At least, John's easy acceptance of Sherlock's former drug use and possible diseases had calmed Sherlock`s nerves somewhat. Therefore, his next words fell from his lips, before he could think about them twice. "I'm transgender."

Silence greeted his words and Sherlock forced himself to remain quiet as he watched John absorb the information. So far, John hadn't jumped up and hurried to the upstairs bedroom to pack his things. He also hadn't started laughing at Sherlock or insulting him and he didn't appear to be in shock. All in all, John appeared completely calm and Sherlock was about to relax, when the next words took him by surprise. "So, you are actually a woman?"

Sherlock couldn't help the flinch at this hateful question, which had been directed at him numerous times in countless variations. Really, he should be used to it by now - and he hadn't even cared what his former flatmate had screamed at him - but somehow it was different when this insult came from John. A man, who had killed for Sherlock and probably saved his life. Someone, who had prepared tea for Sherlock and hadn't fainted at the sight of body parts in the fridge. All in all, he was the perfect flatmate and partner for Sherlock, if only... if only, he wasn't transphobic.

Sherlock pushed his mug away and got to his feet, aware that John was watching him with a confused look on his face. Idiot, Sherlock snarled inwardly at the man, did John expect Sherlock to have tea with him, after he had insulted him like this?! Certainly not. Especially, since Sherlock had better things to do... like finding himself a new flatmate or begging Mrs. Hudson to lower the rent, so that Sherlock could stay. She would probably do it, if she was told why John wasn't a suitable candidate.

"Sherlock?" John`s voice sounded bewildered as he stared up into Sherlock's cold eyes and he sneered down at the man. "I'm a man, John. Since you can't accept that, I don't think...."

"No, wait!" John was on his feet faster than Sherlock could blink and his hand on Sherlock's wrist kept him from leaving. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at that. He didn't think that John was prone to violence, but if he thought that he would be able to overpower Sherlock, then he was deeply mistaken... although it didn't look like he was attacking Sherlock. The grip on Sherlock's hand was light enough for Sherlock to break it with a twist of his hand and John's eyes were wide with horror and confusion as he met Sherlock's gaze.

"I thought," John licked his lips. "I'm not sure of the correct terminology, but... I assumed that you were... born with XY chromosomes and that you wanted to transition..."

"I have already transitioned!" John flinched at Sherlock's glare and held up his free hand in an appeasing gesture. "I get that now, but at first I thought..."

"You assumed that I was a trans woman?" Sherlock asked, his mind finally catching up with John's words about chromosomes as hope blossomed in his chest. Maybe, this was all just a terrible misunderstanding, although Sherlock didn't dare believing that just now.

"If that means that you changed your gender from man to woman - I told you that I don't know the correct terminology - then yes, that's what I thought you were trying to tell me. I'm sorry," John added and a sigh fell from his lips. "I didn't want to offend you. I should have asked what exactly you meant and... I never wanted to call you a woman, when you are a man."

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply and closed it again. He didn't know what to say. John was telling the truth - it was easy to read his open face - and Sherlock wasn't sure how to handle so much acceptance. It was rare that people had accepted him so fast, after being told that he was transgender - not that Sherlock had told many people - and even rarer for them to apologize for their incorrect terminology. Hell, even Mycroft had needed a whole day to wrap his head around the fact that he didn't have a sister - and had never had one - and to embrace Sherlock as his brother - literally.

"Did I muck it up completely?" John's tentative questions, interrupted Sherlock's thoughts and he managed to shook his head. "No, I just... you are fine with it?" It sounded like John was, but Sherlock would rather make sure of it now, instead of throwing John out at some point in the future, because Sherlock had drawn to the wrong conclusion.

"You mean, if it's a problem for me that the gender on your birth certificate doesn't match with the gender on your ID?" Sherlock nodded and John shook his head at the same time, a small smile on his face. "No, it's not, although," Sherlock tensed and prepared himself for the kind of insults he was used to. "Why did you even tell me? I mean," John cocked his head to the side. "As far as I know, it's not something you have to tell someone after they only know you for a day - or at all."

Sherlock gently freed himself from John's grip and sat down in his chair. Now, that he was certain that John wasn't transphobic, he could tell him the whole story and enjoy his tea, while he did so. After a second, John followed Sherlock's example and sat down, a look of curious interest on his face. Sherlock took a mouthful of tea and then shrugged. "I didn't tell any of my former flatmates, most of them fled as soon as they spotted the body parts in the fridge, but the last one... Stephen lasted longer - he is a pathologist - and one day, he walked in on me in the shower." Sherlock gritted his teeth at the memory of a surprised gaps, the assumption that Sherlock was a woman, who hid her gender, in order to be taken seriously by the police, until Stephen had noted the absence of breasts. At this point, Stephen had only had disgust to spare for Sherlock and he had left their shared flat at the evening of the same day... not without making sure that Sherlock knew exactly what Stephen thought of him.

"He didn't take it well, I assume." There was a note of anger in John's voice and Sherlock allowed himself a small smile, when he noted that the anger was directed at Stephen. "No, he didn't. I think he called me a freak at least five times, before he switched to calling me tranny, bitch, slut and every other insult associated with the female gender."

It was John's turn to grit his teeth. "Such a wanker! You don't know his address by any chance?"

A low chuckle escaped Sherlock at the question, but he shook his head, although a warm feeling flooded his chest, when he thought of John paying Stephen a visit. Strange, that John could provoke such emotions from Sherlock, when most people usually earned nothing more than his scorn. He was suddenly even more relieved that he didn't have to throw John out, it would have been a great loss.

"You already killed a man for me, no need to prove your worth any farther." John's eyes widened at Sherlock's phrasing and Sherlock almost bit his tongue at his choice of words. He had made it sound like John was only a tool for him, when he was... Sherlock wasn't sure exactly what John was for him, but at least of more worth than an unanimated object. Before, Sherlock was able to undo his mistake, John grinned cheekily at him. "Yeah, I knew from the start that it would take drastic actions to convince you of taking me as a flatmate."

They shared a chuckle over that and Sherlock had to stop himself from analyzing just how the lines on John's face shifted when he was happy or how pleasant his laughter echoed through the kitchen. Such fruitless observations didn't lead to anything.

"So, we are going to sign the rental agreement?" John inquired, when they had both recovered from their mutual silliness.

"Of course," Sherlock assured him with as much aloofness as possible, although he felt giddy with relief, because he had finally found a flatmate, who didn't only enjoy cases and didn't mind body parts, but who was also fine with Sherlock being transgender.

"Good," John nodded and then collected Sherlock`s and his mug. "More tea for both of us and toast and eggs for you, I guess."

Sherlock groaned. "If I must." John merely raised an eyebrow at him and that was the end of their conversation and the start of their routine as flatmates.

 

"So, finished!"

 

Startled, Sherlock blinked down at his leg, which was covered in gauze bandage from thigh to knee. He hadn't even realized John winding it around his leg, not to mention stitching the wound, that lay underneath, back together. His trip down memory lawn had robbed Sherlock of all his observation skills for the present.

 

"Eight stitches and you are lucky that the knife missed any major blood vessels," John announced in a grim voice and Sherlock noted that he had already put away his medical supplies. "It's probably good that you vanished into your Mind Palace, since I only gave you a small dose of anesthesia, but you can have some pain killers now."

 

Sherlock accepted the pills and the glass of water gratefully as sparks of mild pain shot through his leg. The next few days would be hell, especially since Sherlock wouldn't be able to run around London. No, he wouldn't even be able to play his violin while waltzing around the flat or working on his experiments for any length of time... Boring!

 

Instead of voicing any of his concerns - and getting a lecture of how he brought that on himself - Sherlock gulped down his medicaments and then shook his head at John. "No."

 

His friend raised an eyebrow at that. "No? Did I miss some part of our conversation or did you hold it in your head without me?"

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes at that. Only because he had done this one time - or maybe two or three times - didn't mean that John had to assume that Sherlock held conversations with him in his Mind Palace, whenever he couldn't follow Sherlock's train of thoughts. "Your former statement." When John frowned in bewilderment, Sherlock huffed an impatient breath. "About vanishing to my Mind Palace, I didn't."

 

"Oh?"

 

"I merely recalled our first day as flatmates."

 

If John had been confused before, he looked completely lost now, but before Sherlock could elaborate, a grin turned John's lips upwards. "Was it the part, where you melted the pan or where you contaminated everything edibles with E. coli?"

 

Had he really done that? Sherlock frowned in concentration, but he couldn't remember these parts. He didn't think that John had made them up, although these accidents could have happened at any other day during the last year they had spent together. It probably just hadn't occurred to Sherlock to save these memories. Unimportant, in comparison to what had happened in the morning at their first day as flatmates. "I meant the part, when I told you that I was transgender."

 

"Ah." John's eyes widened momentarily. "You still haven't given me Stephen's address."

 

A laugh escaped past Sherlock's lips. "I will not risk it, otherwise you are going to do something stupid."

 

Sherlock didn't know what he had said wrong. One second, John's eyes were twinkling with mirth and the next one, his face was closed off and his lips pressed into an angry line. "John?" Sherlock tried carefully and was met with an angry scowl. Alright, something was definitely wrong and Sherlock didn't have the first clue of what it was. Either the painkillers were slowing down his brain or John was a step ahead of him. Sherlock didn't know which possibility was more frightening.

 

"You mean something as stupid as running after an armed criminal, who already killed four people in cold blood," John hissed through clenched teeth and for a second Sherlock feared that he would forget his Hippocratic oath and hit him. Instead, John merely balled his hands into fists and kept glaring at a point on the wall, behind Sherlock. "I have told you numerous times to wait for backup. It wouldn't have killed you to wait another minute for me."

 

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest - the killer would have escaped by then - but John kept him silent with a deadly glare. "I know what you are going to say and I'm telling you now that catching a bloody killer isn't more important than your safety." Sherlock frowned at the slight tremble in John's voice and how his eyes flickered to Sherlock's leg. John had often expressed his anger at Sherlock's recklessness, but this time he appeared to be... frightened for some reason. "I was right behind you Sherlock - and so was Greg - and we - I - watched you go down. You screamed and then you toppled over." There was a hitch in John's voice as he recalled the incident and Sherlock was tempted to reach out to him and offer his friend some kind of comfort, but he didn't dare to, for fear that his offer would be rejected. "For a second... God, I thought you were dead, Sherlock!" The words were screamed and Sherlock was glad that Mrs. Hudson was away with Mrs. Turner, otherwise she would have come up to check on them.

 

"There was so much blood and you... you lay so still - you must have passed out for a few seconds - and I... I didn't know what I would do if you... losing you would have destroyed me." Sherlock looked stunned at John. No one had ever expressed so much emotions for him. Of course, Sherlock was aware that Mycroft, Mummy and Dad would be devasted if he was to die. Lestrade would mourn the days in which he hadn't needed to use his brain and Molly would shed a lot of tears over his body, but... none of them had ever told Sherlock in so many words what he meant to them. Actually, he wasn't certain where John's emotional outburst left them.

 

"I... you are melodramatic," Sherlock tried to play John's words down, even as his heart hammered away in his chest. "You would find a new flatmate and..."

 

"Do you think that's all we are? Flatmates?!" John's voice was laced with so many emotions that Sherlock was barely able to identify a fraction of them. There was anger, disbelief, hurt and sadness, all mixed together and Sherlock flinched inwardly at being the cause for them, when all he wanted was to make John smile. "Of course not," Sherlock tried to save the situation. "We are also partners and... friends, but," Sherlock licked his lips and averted his gaze. "You have other friends. You could move on if something were to happen to me."

 

It was different for Sherlock of course. If John were to be killed - or just left him - then Sherlock would be lost. Without John, his life would be grey and meaningless and Sherlock shuddered when he even thought of it. Still, someday John would find himself a partner - if man or woman seemed unimportant if Sherlock's observations were correct - and leave Sherlock alone at Baker Street. They would only see each other sporadically, before any kind of contact would cease and Sherlock would be nothing more than a chapter in John's life. A closed chapter.

 

"And they say, you are a genius," John muttered and before Sherlock knew what was happening, soft but determined lips were pressed to his.

 

It was brief kiss - over much too fast - and Sherlock mourned the loss of contact, when John pulled back. A faint blush stained his cheeks, when he met Sherlock`s gaze. "Sorry, I... that was uncalled for." John's Adam's apple popped up and down, when he swallowed and Sherlock found himself mesmerized by the movement. So much that he almost missed John's next words. "I know that you consider yourself married to your work, but..." A helpless shrug of shoulders and Sherlock cursed his tongue, which appeared to be glued to the roof of his mouth. "I just wanted you to know that you... you are so much more than a friend to me, Sherlock."

 

It was too much. Too much information. Too much... everything. Sherlock needed time to sort everything out. Time to analyze this change in John's and his dynamic and figure out what it meant, but he didn't have that time now. If John's panicked look was anything to go by, then he was seconds away from fleeing the flat and leaving Sherlock alone and that just wasn't on. Say something, Sherlock's mind urged him, anything at all will do.

 

"I... My marriage to my work is a rather more open relationship than you might think." Sherlock cringed at how pathetic the words sounded, once they had left his mouth, but if John's hopeful smile was anything to go by, he wasn't put off by them.

 

"So," John's hand stroked Sherlock's cheek gently. "You say that you aren't averse to the idea of cheating on your work with me?"

 

Sherlock nodded and then forced himself to press out a verbal reply. "I would be delighted to."

 

A brilliant smile lit up John's face. "Good," was all he said, before he dipped his head down to claim Sherlock's lips in another gentle kiss.

 

Their noses bumped together, when Sherlock angled his head to the other side to deepen the kiss and a small chuckle echoed between them, before John rearranged their mouths to lick at Sherlock's lower lip. Sherlock hummed contently into the kiss and turned on his side to tangle his hands in John's hair or at least... he tried to do that. A wave of pain reminded Sherlock of his injury and why he was lying on the couch in the first place. He hissed, when his leg protested against the sudden movement and John moved away from him to watch him with a worried expression on his face.

 

"It`' fine," Sherlock tried, but John didn't fall for the obvious lie. "No, you are in pain and we shouldn't be doing anything that makes you move carelessly."

 

Sherlock pouted - although he would have denied it, if asked. Here, he was with John, who was willing to kiss him and just then his bloody transport had to ruin everything. Not that John would have kissed him, if Sherlock hadn't been injured, but still...

 

"Oh, don't look like that." John's teasing tone, only made Sherlock pout harder. "Your leg will be better in a few days and until then... Lift your head and upper body." Sherlock frowned at the order, but did as he was told. His eyes widened, when John got up from the floor to sit on the couch and then guided Sherlock back in a lying position, with his head bedded on John's thigh. "There, that's nice as well, isn't it?"

 

Sherlock's only response was a purr, when John's skilled fingers ran through his curls and massaged his scalp. It was really nice, although snogging would have been even better, but Sherlock couldn't really complain. Not, when John's scent surrounded him and Sherlock's eyes were slowly drifting shut, while the tension drained from his body, with every caress of John's hands.


	2. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for only updating this story now, but I hope the chapter makes up for the wait! :)
> 
>  
> 
> Trigger Warning: The sex part in this chapter is detailed and although I have given my utmost best to write it in a non-triggering way, I know that everyone is different, so read with care, if you think something might trigger you.

### Recovery

"John! John! JOHN!"

 

With a sigh, John put the washed dishes in the cupboard and dried his hands, before he ventured outside in the living-room. Sherlock was lying on his back on the couch - just like John had left him half an hour ago - and bore an annoyed expression on his face.

 

"What is it?" John asked, although he was relatively sure what the answer to this question would be. After all, they had been playing this game for three days by now and it was starting to grain on John's nerves. As if Sherlock had read his mind - and sometimes, John believed that he did - he muttered: "I'm bored."

 

John's eyes flickered to the mess on the floor - artistically draped around the couch - where case files, newspapers and scientific magazines turned the living-room into a battlefield. John had really hoped that the cold cases from Greg - John had begged for them - would keep Sherlock occupied for a little longer. At least, one more day, without too many complaints would have been nice, but John wasn't surprised that his luck hadn't held this long. After all, he was talking about Sherlock here. A man, who shot holes in the wall, when he was bored. Thankfully, the gun was safely tucked away in John's room. Usually, the drawer of his nightstand wouldn't be a great hiding place, when it came to Sherlock, but since his friend - No, boyfriend, John reminded himself with an inward smile - couldn't rush up the stairs for the time being, John's gun was saver than it had ever been. 

 

And that brought John back to the problem at hand. His gun might be save, because Sherlock wasn't in any condition to rush upstairs and get his hands on it, but that didn't mean that John's sanity was as lucky. Three days of being stuck with an injured genius were almost worse than the one time, John and his men had been closed in on by the Taliban. At least then, John had only been worried about getting killed, but he was certain that Sherlock could come up with much more horrifying ideas, if his mind didn't get anything to work on.

 

"Have you already solved all the cold cases?" John sat down in his armchair - which had been brought closer to the couch, days ago - and prayed that Sherlock was in the mood to tell him all about his conclusions, so that he would be busy for the next hour. One hour, in which John didn't have to worry about ill advised attempts at wandering through the flat and - in the worst case scenario - tearing the stitches. Obviously though, today wasn't John`s lucky day, when Sherlock merely sneered at the folders on the floor and then directed his glare at John. "I solved three out of four cases and I already texted my conclusions to Lestrade." A small smile passed over John's face. Only Sherlock was able to solve three complicated cases in under an hour. Okay, maybe Mycroft would be able to perform this miracle as well, but John didn't have any interest in the elder Holmes' brother.

 

"That's fantastic! Maybe, you can retreat to your Mind Palace and solve the fourth case before dinner." The moment the words left John's mouth, he knew that he had said something wrong, when Sherlock's eyes darkened and he sent John a accusatory look. "I would have solved this case already, if I were allowed to conclude an experiment about the decay rate of a human skull in concentrated hydrochloric acid, while supplying sulfur to the mixture in intervals of..."

 

"No," John shook his head in horror, when he imagined the smell in their flat after such an experiment. "Definitely not!"

 

Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Usually, Sherlock would have turned his back to John, but his leg appeared to pain him in any position that included bending his knee. One more reason, why John didn't want Sherlock to conclude experiments for hours, as John was certain that the brilliant genius would block out any distraction - pain in this case - and set back his recovery for days.

 

"See, I'm not even allowed to do something fun! How am I supposed to survive the next few days, when I'm restricted to lying around on the couch. I can already feel my mind rotting!" The effect of Sherlock's harsh words were lost, when he pursed his lips like a small child and John had to stop himself from giggling at the sight. It wouldn't have gone over well, if he started laughing at Sherlock. Instead, he rolled his eyes and picked up one of the scientific magazines from the floor. "I thought you would think it fun to write down scathing remarks about the incompetence of your colleagues?"

 

That only earned John another sneer. "They aren't my colleagues. They are merely less dim witted people than the rest of the population, although I'm sure that a trained ape would gain better results than they did. Hell, even you could gain..."

 

"Sherlock!" John did his best to sound insulted, although he felt like laughing. Maybe, it wasn't sane to find it amusing when your boyfriend compared your intellect to that of an ape, when he was pissed with the whole world, but somehow John thought it endearing. Not that he would ever tell Sherlock, but still...

 

"So, you don't want to read the magazines. Neither are you interested in any of the books and you don't want to watch TV." John ignored Sherlock's disgusted look at the mention of the last activity and continued. "You also can't solve the last case and..."

 

"I could solve the last case, if you would just let me get up for a few hours!"

 

John shook his head. "No, we both knew that you won't pay any attention to your leg, as soon as you have started your experiment. You almost tore the stitches, yesterday, when you deemed it a good idea to take a shower without any help and slipped in the bathtub. If you want to run around London again, in a couple of weeks, then..."

 

"A couple of weeks?!"

 

John swallowed down a laugh at the horrified expression on Sherlock's face and placed a hand on his wrist to calm him down. "Don't worry, you will be able to walk around and do experiments in a few days, when most of the wound has healed, but you will have to rest your leg for a little longer. At least, if you don't want to risk some kind of permanent damage." Actually, the risk of permanent damage was incredible low, but Sherlock didn't need to know that. The less he did with his leg, the faster he would be recovered and John wouldn't have to put up with his dark moods anymore... at least, not more often than usual.

 

Sherlock glared at John once more and then sighed dramatically. "I'll have turned into a potato by the end of the week. You don't even want to snog me." The last part was delivered with a slightly hurt look and John knew Sherlock well enough to understand that it wasn't played.

 

"Sweetheart," he started and delighted in Sherlock's surprised look at the pet name. "It's not that I don't want to snog you. In fact, I would love to snog you senseless, but I don't want to put any pressure on your leg and snogging while sitting up would be rather uncomfortable for both of us."

 

Sherlock looked a little appeased at that, although not by much and John cursed their shitty timing inwardly. If he had only had the bollocks to confess his feelings to Sherlock sooner, then they could have been snogging - among other things - all day long - as long as no case came up - instead they were limited to brief kisses. Not that John didn't like these as well - and Sherlock hadn't complained either - but he would have really liked to explore other parts of their relationship. They had waited for so long - John suspected that Sherlock had harbored feelings for him for a while as well - and it seemed unfair that they weren't free to enjoy the more physical parts of their newly developed relationship just yet. Still, John had to admit to himself that his frustration about the situation didn't steam from his desire to get laid - although it was part of it - but rather that he wanted to show Sherlock how much he meant to him, in a way that didn't include words. 

 

John sighed and then an idea hit him."I could suck you off," John blurted out, before he had the time to think twice about it. 

 

Sherlock's pout froze on his face and then transformed into a sneer. "Don't mock me, John!" Their eyes clashed and John felt all the color drain from his face, when he noticed the hidden layer of hurt in Sherlock's gaze. Fuck, he should have thought twice before allowing his desire to overrule his mind like this. John could have slapped himself for his obvious lack of tact. Of course, he hadn't forgotten that Sherlock was transgender, but it never was on the forefront of his mind. It was just as much a part of Sherlock as his brilliant mind and his mad experiments. Nothing more and nothing less, but John should have taken into consideration that it would play a role, when it came to physical intimacy. No matter, that he hadn't meant to offend Sherlock with his choice of words, but John should have asked him what terminology he preferred... or what he didn't like. Hell, John scolded himself, they should have had some kind of conversation about it, after their first kiss. Honestly, John hadn't wanted to create a problem where none was and Sherlock hadn't brought it up, but that didn't mean that...

 

"Firstly you tell me that we can't snog, because I might hold my leg at the wrong angle and now you propose to suck me off, how does this fit together?" John blinked at the outburst as his mind tried to catch up with its meaning. His eyes flickered to Sherlock's face. He didn't look offended, just frustrated and John allowed himself a tiny sigh of relief.

 

"What if I told you that I have an idea about how we can do that, without endangering the healing process of your leg?" John prayed to every higher power that Sherlock was really only angry with him, because he had thought that John couldn't make good on his offer. Judging by Sherlock's raised eyebrow and the slightly interested gleam in his eyes, today might just be John`s lucky day after all.

 

"Alright, let's see what you have thought of, but I warn you," Sherlock's eyes narrowed at John, as he propped himself up in a sitting position. "If it includes bondage, I'm out. I'm not fond of being restricted."

 

John breathed a sigh of relief and pressed an affectionate kiss to Sherlock's forehead, when he got up from his chair. "Don't worry, I'm not really into that either. Just wait here," John added as Sherlock made to get up from the couch. "Mrs. Hudson is out and you shouldn't walk around if it can be avoided."

 

Sherlock's expression told John that he was deadly curious now as to what John had planned, but John merely winked at his boyfriend and hurried out of the room to gather the necessary items from his bedroom. It only took him three minutes to locate a small stool and a big, fluffy pillow - to fluffy to sleep on it - which he carried down to the sitting room with him. Sherlock's piercing gaze landed on him the second John entered his line of view and John allowed him to make his deductions, while he placed the stool in front of the couch and the pillow on top of it.

 

"Rather simple," Sherlock announced after a second and leaned back against the cushions. That more than anything told John that Sherlock agreed with his idea and he couldn't hide a pleased smile at the thought that he had come up with a solution, Sherlock hadn't even entertained in the first place. John watched as Sherlock struggled with his pajama bottoms, without getting up from the couch and a laugh fell from his lips, before he could hold it back.

 

"What?" Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at him, but he appeared more amused than offended at his outburst and John merely shook his head. "It just occurred to me that this is not a typical first time."

 

At that a bark of laughter erupted from Sherlock and he had to stop in his efforts to take his trousers off as his whole body shook with amusement. "When have we ever done anything typical or normal for that manner? Besides," Sherlock grinned at John and finally managed to wriggle out of his trousers. "This was your idea."

 

John nodded, unable to reply verbally as he watched Sherlock place one, long leg on the prepared stool and put his other on the floor. Dear God, Sherlock's legs should come with a warning sign. They were all long and pale skin, elegant and strong at the same time and John was faster on his knees - between Sherlock's thighs - than was dignified for a man his age.

 

"God, you are beautiful," John whispered and stroked the smooth skin of Sherlock's thighs gently. More than beautiful even, John thought, when Sherlock hummed above him. If someone ever asked John about his definition of perfection, his answer would be Sherlock Holmes, because... Bloody hell, if any God had ever thought of placing temptation among mere humans, then he couldn't have done a better job than by creating Sherlock. His alabaster skin stood in perfect contrast to the dark curls between his legs and the small, red head of Sherlock's cock was pure perfection in John`s eyes as well.

 

Enlarged clitoris, due to, the doctorial part of John's mind started to point out to him, but he pushed it aside. This was Sherlock - his lover, boyfriend, partner and sometimes bane of his existence - and not a patient. He didn't need the medical jargon to please his lover, although he needed to know something else.

 

"Sherlock," John looked up slowly and kept on stroking Sherlock's leg with one hand as he met the gaze of his lover. "Could you tell me what you like... or no, I would like to figure that out myself. But if there is anything you can't stand..."

 

"Anal penetration of any kind," Sherlock announced without missing a beat, his eyes fixed on John's face. "You can stroke my buttocks or even between them, but don't put anything in my anus, if you don't want this to end quickly."

 

"Noted." John wouldn't have done that either way without asking first, but it was good to already know of one barrier that shouldn't be crossed. "What about..."

 

"You can finger and lick my cunt as you like. Yes, John," Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation and John almost chuckled at the look, which was usually reserved for Anderson. "I have a cunt and I'm referring to it as such, although it's not usual part of the male anatomy. And no, I don't have any problem with its existence and I enjoy the pleasure I can gain from any kind of attention you chose to pay to it."

 

John was aware of the huge smile that stretched his lips almost painfully, after Sherlock had finished his little speech. He hadn't been overly worried that the state of Sherlock's genitals would get in the way of the physical parts of their relationship, but he liked that Sherlock was so confident with his body. No, scratch that! John didn't only like it, he was deliriously happy that Sherlock was content - obviously more than content - with his body, because he would have hated to see his boyfriend's usual confidence crumple, while in bed with John. Of course, in this case, John would have made sure that Sherlock knew just how beautiful he was, but John liked this reality much better.

 

"You are walking perfection," John whispered in awe and then he didn't give Sherlock a chance to protest as he lowered his mouth to the tip of Sherlock's cock. A throaty moan echoed from above and John grinned and placed a wet kiss on the needy flesh, before sucking on it carefully. The sounds that emerged from Sherlock were beautiful and John only regretted that he couldn't watch him the whole time without getting a crack in his neck, from the position between his legs.

 

Next time, he reassured himself and then parted Sherlock's public hair for better access. The musky scent that hit his nostrils, made John's mouth water in anticipation as warmth started to pool between his legs. He ignored the throbbing in his own pants for now - this was foremost about Sherlock - and licked a long stride from Sherlock's cunt to his cock and back again.

 

"Ah... John!"

 

Fingers gripped at his hair and John almost lost his balance at the sudden action - although it should have been expected. He only managed not to fall - and how embarrassing would that have been - by bracing himself on Sherlock's good leg with one hand. Still, John didn't try to break free from his lover's grip as he circled his lover's hole with his tongue. He rather enjoyed the weight of Sherlock's hand on his head and how his fingers tightened in John's hair, whenever he used his tongue in an especially wicked way. Not that Sherlock's groans and moans weren't telling enough, but John had always enjoyed to feel how well he pleasured his lovers.

 

John pushed the tip of his tongue into his lover's hole and tasted the sweet and earthy liquid that was so uniquely Sherlock and spoke of how aroused he was - all thanks to John. Heat coiled low in John's abdomen as he tore a broken groan from Sherlock's lips, when he pushed deeper into him and rubbed his lover's cock with his fingers at the same time. John spread his knees wider to ease some of the pressure on his painfully erect cock - he should have taken his jeans off - and then focused his whole attention back on Sherlock. John could tell from the way his lover pushed back against him that Sherlock was already close. Very close, if the increase of pre-come that wet John's tongue was any indicator.

 

"Please... John..." Sherlock squirmed on the couch and John hummed in encouragement, unwilling to lose contact with his lover for even a second. "Your fingers... in me and... your tongue... Oh Yesss!"

 

John happily switched the position of his tongue with his hand, which earned him a throaty scream as he pushed two of his fingers into his lover's willing hole. A dozen sucks and thrusts later and Sherlock tumbled over the edge.. John was certain that he had never seen something more beautiful than Sherlock as he gave himself over to his pleasure: Upper body flushed with heat. Head thrown to the side to reveal his pale neck. Lips opened in an endless scream. And eyes... Dear Lord, these all-seeing eyes were fixed on John as if he was the center of Sherlock's universe.

 

John had to press his free hand to his crotch to prevent himself from coming into his trousers, while he barely managed to stroke Sherlock through his orgasm and its aftershocks. Somehow, John managed not to embarrass himself as he withdrew his fingers from within Sherlock and sat back down on his heels. It had been fantastic, but... if John didn't get any kind of release quickly, he would go mad. He rubbed his cheek against Sherlock's thigh, while he unzipped his jeans and freed his cock from its prison. Pre-cum was already leaking freely from its head and John knew himself well enough to understand that it wouldn't take him longer than a minute to finish. He closed his hand around his shaft and gave it a quick and hard stroke. A moan fell from his lips at the exquisite pleasure that bordered on pain and brought him even closer to his own climax.

 

"John." Sherlock's voice sounded urgent and John looked up to meet the intensive gaze of his lover. "Get up!"

 

For a second, John wanted to protest against the order. He was perfectly fine on the floor, surrounded by Sherlock's scent and his lover's taste still on his lips, but in the end he complied Sherlock's wish like he did most of the time. As soon as John had gotten to his feet, Sherlock's next command made it clear, what he had in mind for John. "Brace your hands on the wall behind me! One on each side of my head!"

 

"Oh yes!" A harsh breath was torn from John's lips as he obliged the command and looked down at his cock, which was barely an inch away from Sherlock's face in this position.

 

"Perfect," Sherlock purred and John gasped as wet heat enfolded the head of his hard length. God, if Sherlock needed to come with a warn sign, then he also needed a license for his tongue, because... Hell, John couldn't remember a time when someone had driven him out of his mind with nothing more than a hand around his shaft and lips on the head of his cock. Sherlock gave John one more lick and then looked up at him, their eyes locked in a heated embrace as he mouthed words around John's cock "All over my face. I want you to come all over my face."

 

A shudder of pure lust ran through John's body, when the words registered in his mind and he had to brace himself harder against the wall to stop himself from toppling over, when Sherlock sucked eagerly at his cock.

 

"John," Sherlock's tongue teased the head of his throbbing erection. "Come. Now!"

 

One look in Sherlock's eager face and John obeyed. His whole body shook with the force of his orgasm as wave after wave of pure pleasure ribbed through him. His semen spurted between them and painted Sherlock's face in milky streaks. Mine, John thought possessively as he watched a drop of come ran down Sherlock's nose and fell on his upper lip. A curious tongue darted out to lick it off and John thought that he could have come again from that image alone, if he hadn't felt so utterly drained from his last orgasm.

 

"You should take sugar in your tea," Sherlock muttered and John couldn't help himself, he laughed. This statement was so typical Sherlock. Fitting and unfitting in this situation all at once and John almost collapsed on top of his lover, before he remembered Sherlock's injury and managed to fell ungracefully on the couch next to him.

 

"I don't see what's so funny," Sherlock announced in his most aloof voice, while John clung to his lover's side as another wave of giggles pushed past his lips.

 

"It's only," John managed and then looked up in Sherlock's twinkling eyes and his semen smeared face and he started laughing again. Sherlock's baritone laughter joined John's high pitched giggles a second later.

 

They were both still panting, when they recovered enough for John to get up and get them a flannel to clean up the mess they had made. John helped Sherlock back into his pajama bottoms and then sat down on the couch himself with the head of his lover bedded on his thigh.

 

"Are you still bored?" John whispered as he carded his hands through Sherlock's messy curls.

 

"Mhm. No, not now," Sherlock murmured after a while and rubbed his cheek against John's bare - the jeans was in the laundry basket - thigh. "But if you could come up with something else in twenty minutes..."

 

"Twenty minutes?! I'm not that young anymore, Sherlock. Not everyone here has the refractory period of a twenty year old."

 

"A shame," Sherlock complained quietly, but without much heat and John took it to mean that he was forgiven any inadequacies of his body as they both enjoyed their post coital cuddle on the couch.


	3. Old Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad that I finally managed to finish this chapter and with it, the whole story.^^ Thank you all for your support, in the form of kudos and comments, I cherish every feedback. :) Enjoy this chapter, as it will probably be my last Trans*lock story for this year (Just for the year, I promise), because the last weeks of December are rather busy for me.
> 
>  
> 
> Trigger Warning: Transphobic language and bullying! Don't read on, if this triggers you in any way!

### Old Scars

"And none of you lot got suspicious that Bark had painted his hallway in a shade of orange that clashed terrible with the red paint on the ceiling?" Sherlock more felt than heard the exasperated sighs and silent eye rolls as he pointed to a picture on the black board that showed a horrible combination of colors. Really, how had the Yarders managed to gain their jobs, when they couldn't even make the most simple deductions? Sherlock threw a glance at John and hoped that at least his boyfriend had followed his explanations, but from the blank look on John's face, it was obvious that Sherlock was the only one in the room to see the evidence of a crime in these pictures.

 

He groaned inwardly and picked up the files with the descriptions of the house - which was the crime scene and scanned to the most interesting part. "You didn't think it was suspicious that Bark roasted a duck, after he had just figured out that his wife had run away from him with her new lover?"

 

"He burned it," Donovan shot a glare at Sherlock from the other end of the meeting room. "He was probably in some kind of daze and prepared the duck without thinking about it and then... he just forgot about it. The man was completely freaking out, when the police came to his house."

 

Sherlock snorted and barely kept himself from hitting his head against the wall or - even better - from pushing someone else's head into it. Preferably, Anderson who had obviously managed to mock up the investigation of a very simple double murder by forgetting everything he had ever learned about forensic science... if he had ever known anything about it in the first place. 

 

"So and now tell me, what have fresh paint and a burned duck in common?" It was hard to keep himself from sneering, but Sherlock managed it without straining his facial muscles. Blank looks were all he got from the Yarders. Even Lestrade, who wasn't that incompetent appeared to be lost and Anderson looked like Sherlock had lost his mind.

 

"Oh come on, it's simple. You all knew it, you just have to use your brains for once, which lets you out of the loop Anderson," Sherlock added with a nasty smirk and grinned when the forensic doctor sputtered. Yes, Sherlock had definitely missed this part of his work with the Yard. It was always fun to insult that incompetent excuse of a supposed professional. Especially when the case was as boring as this one. Barely a four and usually, Sherlock wouldn't have left the house, but after two weeks of utterly boredom - only interrupted by delicious sex with John - Sherlock would have jumped at the chance to climb up a tree to save a cat. Not that John would have allowed him such stunts, as he was of the opinion that Sherlock should take it slow - boring - and only agreed to that case, after he had been convinced that it didn't involve any chases over rooftops.

 

Sherlock still hoped for a good fight, when they finally got to their suspect - alias Mr. Bark - so that he would get a chance to let off some steam. But as it appeared now, Sherlock would have to lead the officers through the whole case, before any of them even moved a finger.

 

"The smell," John's voice broke through the silence and Sherlock could have kissed him in front of everyone. "Paint smells and a burned duck smells as well, terribly so." Sherlock nodded encouragingly at his boyfriend to continue, but to his disappointment, it was Lestrade who finished John's train of thoughts. "You think he wanted to cover some other smell like that of a rotting body."

 

"Two rotting bodies," Sherlock corrected automatically. "I have managed to identify the lover of Bark's wife. It's the assistant manager of the boutique she worked with and the woman hasn't been seen in the last three days, although she was described as reliable by everyone. Bark's wife has also last been seen three days ago, although he told us that she was only missing for two days. It's obvious that he is lying and that the women never managed to run away. Their bodies are hidden somewhere in the house - probably in some kind of priest hole, it's old enough to have something like that - and he is only waiting for the investigation to be closed to get rid of them. I can't tell you if it was a planned murder or if it happened by chance. I'll have to see the bodies for that."

 

Most of the police officers were gaping at him, but Sherlock only had eyes for John's brilliant smile. "Fantastic!" John announced without blushing and Sherlock felt a pull at the corner of his lips at the compliment.

 

"Alright," Lestrade gestured to his officers. "Sally, gather a few men and then search the house and its surroundings. You should probably take the blue prints of the house with you, in order to compare them with the outlines of the actual rooms."

 

"Don't we need a search warrant?" Sally frowned at her boss and Sherlock smirked at the glare she threw his way, when Lestrade shook his head. "Exigent circumstances, it will be alright."

 

Sally still looked skeptical, but she nodded nonetheless and left the room with the other officers in tow, which left John, Lestrade and Sherlock.

 

"So," John started and Sherlock smiled at him, when his boyfriend crossed over to the black board, only to glare at Lestrade, when he interrupted the moment. "John, would you mind getting us all some coffee? I still have some questions for Sherlock and it would be great..."

 

"Of course, I'll be back in an instant." Sherlock sighed inwardly, when John nodded at them and left the room in a hurry. He was probably glad for the chance to get out of the building and around the street corner to get them all a decent brew, but Sherlock was aware that Lestrade hadn't asked John for coffee to give him the chance to get some fresh air.

 

Sherlock crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned back against the wall. "Ask!"

 

Lestrade had the gall to lift an innocent eyebrow at Sherlock, as if he hadn't already deduced what was on the DI's mind. For a second, Sherlock entertained the thought of keeping silent, until John got back, but he decided against it quickly. If Lestrade had to say something, then it was better to get it over with now, instead of waiting for the DI to create another situation in which he was alone with Sherlock. "You have obviously noted that John's and my relationship has changed - not an overly complicated deduction, after you saw John kissing my cheek from the window of your office - and you have something to say about it. Just speak your mind, so that we can get this nonsense over with."

 

Instead of being insulted by Sherlock's tone - which Sherlock had aimed for - Lestrade merely gave him a half smile and then jumped right to the heart of the matter. Sherlock should have seen it coming, but he hadn't and a surprised gasp escaped his lips at the DI`s question. "Does John know about you?"

 

There was so much worry etched in Lestrade's voice that Sherlock felt the urge to retch, but he swallowed it down and instead threw the DI a withering glare. No need to inquire what Lestrade was referring to, when there was only one possible topic. Of course, Lestrade would want to know if Sherlock had told John that he was transgender, after the DI had figured out that the two men were together. It would probably be considered as leading John on if Sherlock hadn't revealed his secret.

 

For a second, Sherlock entertained the idea of negating Lestrade's question to find out if the DI would feel the need to tell John about Sherlock. He would probably consider it unfair to leave John - an ex-army doctor and upstanding citizen - in the dark about his boyfriend's biggest secret. Nevertheless, Sherlock didn't want to be proven right about Lestrade's loyalties. If he told him the truth, then Sherlock could just ignore the fact that the DI would most likely out him to someone, if he saw the need arise.

 

Sherlock swallowed against the painful lump in his throat and stared at the wall behind Lestrade's head, so that he didn't have to meet the DI's eyes. The knowledge that Lestrade considered Sherlock's gender identity as something shameful that Sherlock had to discuss with his boyfriend right away, hurt more than Sherlock was willing to admit. Especially, after Sherlock had thought that it didn't matter to the DI. Lestrade had never lost a word about Sherlock's last drug withdrawal, when he had looked after Sherlock and seen him in various states of undress in the process. He had merely wrung the promise of never doing drugs again from Sherlock and then had clapped him on the shoulder and had shared a cigarette with him.  
Obviously though, Lestrade assumed that no one would want to stay with Sherlock if they knew about him, otherwise there wouldn't have been any need for his inquiry.

 

Sherlock glared at the wall. "It's none of your business, but John and I had fantastic sex during the last couple of weeks. The state of my genitalia isn't in any way an obstacle for him and we..."

 

"God, Sherlock!" Lestrade covered his face with his hands and Sherlock allowed himself a cruel chuckle as he noted the color in the DI's cheeks. Served him right for interfering with something that wasn't his business.

 

"I didn't need quite so many information, although," Sherlock blinked confused, when Lestrade directed a conspiratorial smile at him. "I'm happy for you. I wouldn't have gathered John as the type to give you shit about it, but I would have gladly taken him to task if he had."

 

Sherlock gaped. It was rare that he was caught by surprise, but Lestrade had certainly managed to meet none of his expectations. The DI hadn't been worried about John being led on, but about Sherlock's well being. "But... John is your friend."

 

The look Lestrade threw him was one of pure exasperation and for a second Sherlock felt like Anderson, when the man had said something exceptionally stupid. "You are my friend as well, you mad wanker. And I'm aware that it's none of my business, but I had to make sure that John wasn't going to be a second Stephen."

 

Oh yes, of course, Lestrade knew about Sherlock's former flatmate. He had thrown some of the idiot's belongings out himself, after he had wrung the story out of Sherlock. That explained a lot and it meant... that Lestrade cared for him.

 

Sherlock pushed the unexpected realisation away for later examination and then forced his tongue to form rarely used words, while he kept his gaze fixed on Lestrade's crumpled shirt. "Thank you."

 

Fortunately, Lestrade appeared to consider Sherlock's gratitude as enough sentiment for one day and they spent the next minutes, until John's return, in silence. If John noticed that something had changed in the dynamic of the two men, then he didn't ask and only threw one inquiring glance at Sherlock, before handing them each a steaming cup of coffee.

 

They managed to get through the hot brew and John and Lestrade were just chewing on a donut - Sherlock had declined - when a call from Sally informed them that the bodies of the wife and her lover had been found in a secret passage like Sherlock had predicted.

 

"Wonderful," Sherlock grabbed his coat with a wide grin on his face. "Let's go!"

 

Sherlock heard the sighs behind him, but he was certain that Lestrade and John would follow him as he hurried out of the meeting room. He had to see the crime scene with his own eyes, before the incompetent forensic team could destroy valuable evidences and he also needed to check if the name Bark was ringing bells in his mind for a certain reason or if it was a mere coincidence.

 

OOO

 

The house was exactly as Sherlock had expected. Tasteless and pretentious, obviously only built to shove the wealth of the inhabitants in the face of others.

 

"The secret passage is adjoined to the study," a police officer told them, when they arrived at the scene and Sherlock only rolled his eyes. Of course, the house would have study. It probably also had a trophy room, a dining room and at least three guest rooms with different themes each. From what Sherlock had been able to gather about Bark, he was only living off the trust funds, his father had set up for him. He was one of these men, who didn't have to lift a finger in their entire lives and Sherlock despised him already, without having even laid eyes on Bark once. No wonder that his wife had found herself a lover, when her husband had been as cold to her as the outside of the perfectly symmetric building led to believe.

 

"Where is Mr. Bark?" Lestrade's question was directed at the police officer and Sherlock rolled his eyes as he shifted his weight impatiently. If John hadn't shot him a warning glance, Sherlock would have already stormed into the building, without waiting for Lestrade. Usually, not even John could have hold Sherlock back, when he was following a trace, but after everything his boyfriend had put up with during his recovery - Sherlock knew that he wasn't an easy patient - Sherlock assumed that it would only be fair to follow John's rules for once... at least, today. Especially, considering that the case was as good as closed and all Sherlock had to do was gather as much evidence as possible, so that even Bark's best lawyers wouldn't get him out of prison in under ten years.

 

Usually, Sherlock didn't care what sentence a murderer got, after he had solved a case, but this time was different. He couldn't put a finger on why exactly he wanted to see Bark sentenced to prison for as long as possible, but Sherlock suspected that it was due to a mix of certain factors. One being that Bark's biography reminded Sherlock of most of the young men, he had met during his university years and that didn't work in Bark`s favor. Especially not, since...

 

"Holmes?! I can't believe it!"

 

Sherlock turned his head into the direction of the shouting voice and a second later wished that he hadn't done it. The man, held by two police officers, was obviously Bark. Tony Bark or better known as Pinning Tony during his years at Cambridge, since he had always stalked the girls that didn't want him.

 

Sherlock directed a cool look at the smirking man, who had turned Sherlock's last year at Cambridge into a living hell. He should have made the connection right away, but while the name had rung some bells, the face hadn't, because....

 

"I see that you got your nose corrected, five years ago. Also, your ears aren't sticking out anymore and considering your age, you should have much more lines on your face. Your teeth are also bleached, since a chain smoker could never achieve such white teeth. Did Daddy pay for your surgeries, hoping that you would finally find yourself a girl?" Sherlock smirked lightly, when Tony's color changed to an unhealthy scarlet. He knew that it probably was a bad idea to provoke his former fellow student like this, but the opportunity was just too tempting. Besides, Sherlock was certain that Tony would have scored the first point, if Sherlock hadn't been faster. 

 

The ugly smile Tony threw at him, while the police officers watched the two men with a worried look, was proof of that, as were his next words. "I'm pretty sure that I still had less surgeries than you did, Holmes!" Sherlock flinched inwardly, but only lifted an eyebrow at the remark. He should have walked away as soon as he had recognized Tony, but that would have been cowardly. And he wasn't a coward, although Sherlock secretly wished to be elsewhere, but there was no turning back now that Tony had started his rant. "Tell me, Holmes," Tony leaned forward in the grip of the police officers. "Are you still as much of a pussy as you have been or have you finally gotten some balls?"

 

"I don't see how that's any of your business," Sherlock drawled, even as he gripped John's arm at the same time. His boyfriend was so tense that he appeared to be ready to snap and Sherlock didn't want to bail John out of prison for punching a suspect. "I rather thought an accusation for a double murder should keep you busy enough to keep your formerly crooked nose out of other people's business."

 

"Now, Gentlemen," Lestrade interrupted as he finally appeared at the scene - Sally and Anderson at his heels. "There is no reason..."

 

"Gentlemen," Tony cracked with a laugh. "Do you even know that Holmes isn't a man at all, least of all a gentleman."

 

"You..." John growled dangerously, but Sherlock tightened his grip on his arm, although he would do anything to shut Tony up. Anything, expect involving John in a way that would bring Sherlock to Mycroft to ask for a favor.

 

"Have you finally gotten yourself a cock, Holmes?! Last time, we checked there wasn't anything in your pants. Just a slut of a girl, who pretended to be a man. Tranny!"

 

"Lead him away!" Lestrade snapped at his officers, although the damage was already done. Sherlock felt the eyes of half a dozen police officers plus Sally's and Anderson's on him and everything in him screamed to flee. Instead, he summoned his most vicious expression and directed it at Tony. "I'm sure you will have lots of fun in the showers, Bark. An arrogant snob like you, the other inhabitants will line up to have a go with you."

 

Bark's reply was muffled as he was forced into the police car and driven away. Sherlock took a deep breath and hoped that the witnesses of this scene, would just dismiss it as lies, when Anderson destroyed his hopes. "Is it true? You aren't a man at all?"

 

Sherlock couldn't hold back the visible flinch at these hateful words and it was enough to give him away, even to Anderson. "No wonder why Watson fucks you, then." Ah, so Lestrade hadn't been the only one to notice the change in John's and his relationship. "I thought that our good Doctor had changed his preferences, but if you don't even have a cock... although I would hate for my girlfriend to have no breasts or are they just..."

 

"Shut the fuck up, Phillip!" Sally beat both, John and Lestrade, to their scream of outrage as the two men closed their mouths with a click. "Only because your manhood depends on your cock, doesn't make it true for everyone else, although there isn't much manhood to talk about in the first place, if you don't think that it takes more to be a man than a piece of flesh in your pants."

 

Sherlock gaped at Sally, who was giving Anderson an icy glare. As far as Sherlock could tell, everything had been fine between them - Anderson's wife was away on a holiday - therefore it was surprising to say the least that Sally was attacking her lover... in an attempt to defend Sherlock no less.

 

"I can't remember that you complained about that piece of flesh last night." Sally's cheeks colored unnaturally at the remark, but she lifted her head haughtily. "I faked it or do you really believe that your half-hearted attempts could get a woman off? No wonder that your wife prefers to go on holidays alone. She is probably sick of your big ego and your small cock!"

 

"You," Anderson started, but Lestrade grabbed his shoulder, before he got much farther. "Piss off, Phillip! We will talk about this later, but don't think that you'll get away with a simple reprimand!"

 

Anderson sent a last glare at Sally and sneered at Sherlock, before he stalked off. No doubt, he would tell everyone, who wanted to listen to him that Sherlock Holmes was transgender - more rudely expressed, of course- and then... it would be like at university all over again. Sherlock swallowed hard, when unwanted memories started to surface and then took a few seconds to just breathe. In and out, in and out, until his mind was working rational once more. He wasn't as alone as he had been at university. Lestrade and even Sally - as she had just proven - were on his side and most of the other police officers wouldn't risk an official reprimand for the chance of landing a few insults at him. Some might not even believe Anderson's words and even if they did, it wasn't as if Sherlock gave much - if anything at all - about their opinions. As long as John... John!

 

A sickening feeling settled in Sherlock's gut as he glanced at his boyfriend, who was still seething with fury. Fury directed at Anderson and Bark, but it could change fast into something else. As soon as John realised what it implied that people knew about Sherlock, he would doubtlessly rethink their entire relationship. After all, John was worried about the opinions of other people... just like Victor had been.

 

"Holmes?" Sherlock had to blink a few times, before he was able to focus on Sally's worried expression. Funny, that Sally of all people would be worried about him. "Are you alright?"

 

Sherlock nodded and then wrapped an arm around John's shoulder - capitalizing that he was still allowed to do that - as he realized that he owed Sally an expression of gratitude. "Thanks for," Sherlock started, when Sally interrupted him with sarcastic smile and a gesture of her hand. "Don't break something by trying to be nice, Holmes. Anderson is a prick, you were always right about that."

 

Though, Sherlock itched to finally leave the crime scene - all interests in farther investigations vanished - he still raised an eyebrow at Sally's words. "I got the impression that you got along fine for the past couple of weeks."

 

A faint blush colored Sally's cheeks, but her voice was even when she replied. "That's as it might, but I can't be with someone, who is like that." She gestured between Sherlock and where Anderson had vanished. "I have faced enough harassment for what I am, when I joined the police force, it's just not on." Years of being bullied for earning her living as a police sergeant, when many idiots thought that a black woman didn't belong there were written all over Sally's face and Sherlock nodded in understanding. She didn't pity him. It was mere empathy and sympathy and Sherlock could live with that.

 

"Thanks, Donovan," he murmured and then stirred John in the direction of the street, bypassing Lestrade's outstretched hand and waving the DI's apologizes aside. What had happened wasn't Lestrade's fault, but Sherlock still didn't have the nerve to talk with him right now. He only wanted to go home, hid in the bedroom and pretend that everything had just been a bad dream.

 

"You should have let me punch him," John growled angrily, when Sherlock hailed a taxi and ushered him into the vehicle. So much to pretending that nothing had happened. John wouldn't forget it and he soon would realise that...

 

Sherlock pushed the thought away - at least for now - and directed a crooked smile at his boyfriend. "Which one?"

 

Fury flashed through John's eyes as he met Sherlock's gaze. "Both of them! They had no right and... God, I'm really tempted to ask Mycroft to cover up a torture session, so that they pay..."

 

"It won't change their minds." If Sherlock had learned anything in his life, then that most people were too lazy to change how they viewed the world. It was easier to condemn someone for what they were, instead of trying to understand them. Few people, who hadn't already been open minded, when Sherlock met them, had reacted with understanding, when confronted with Sherlock's gender identity. Lestrade was one of them and Sherlock was certain that the DI was beating himself up about today's incident. Not that it would change anything in the long run.

 

"It would have given me some satisfaction," John muttered angrily and pressed his thigh against Sherlock's. Something that would have usually made Sherlock smile, but today he couldn't help but wonder how long he would still have John, until he... left. The thought only grew in intensity on their journey through London and by the time, they had reached Baker Street, Sherlock was barely able to conceal his anxiety of what was to come, when he followed John up the stairs to their flat.

 

OOO

 

John was ready to explode. Not only from anger, mind you, but from the variety of emotions that swirled through his mind and made thinking almost impossible. Of course, there was anger or more correctly, fury. Fury at Anderson and Bark for attacking Sherlock at a crime scene and outing him to everyone, who cared to listen. Fury at Lestrade for not stepping in fast enough. Fury at himself for not protecting Sherlock - although his boyfriend would have John's head if he learned of the last one.

 

Then there was gratitude for Sally's interference. John had never thought that he would think fondly of the Sergeant, but then, she had never defended Sherlock like that. No matter her reasons, but she obviously wasn't as bad as John had always assumed. Of course, there were a lot more emotions, but the one that pushed to the forefront of John`s mind, was worry. Worry for Sherlock, who was sprawled out on the couch and staring lifelessly at the ceiling. John could only guess what was going on in his boyfriend's mind, but he doubted that it was anything good. If Sherlock had ranted and raved after getting home or shot the walls, John would have known that he was fine. Even if Sherlock had covered his arm in half a dozen nicotine patches, it wouldn't have been anything out of the ordinary, but this... this silence, it was worrisome and John didn't like it one bit.

 

He still prepared two mugs of steaming hot tea and placed one on the table in the living-room, before setting down in his armchair with his own tea. A few minutes passed in silence, while Sherlock kept staring at the ceiling and John sipped his tea, until he couldn't stand it any longer. Christ, there were so many things he wanted to say, with no idea where to start, but staring at Sherlock's unmoving form wasn't an option either.

 

John coughed quietly and put his mug on the table. "Sherlock," he started and stopped abruptly, when expressive blue eyes focused on him and the vulnerability in their depths took John's breath away.

 

"You don't have to mollycoddle me," Sherlock announced out of the blue and sat up on the couch, his legs drawn up and arms slung around his knees. The expression on his face was unreadable to John, but he still inched closer with his armchair, until he was in touching distance of his boyfriend. Even if Sherlock didn't make any sense, John at least wanted to comfort him if necessary and that wasn't...

 

"I'm not mollycoddling you."

 

Sherlock snorted at that. "Of course not. You just haven't spoken your mind yet, because you were too busy making tea."

 

Spoken his mind, John frowned and was certain that a question mark would have appeared over his head, if this had been a comic book. He didn't understand most of what Sherlock said at the best of times - at least if it was related to deductions - but that had never stopped John from asking. "What do you think I'm not saying? That I'm furious with these stupid wankers and that I would like to try out some methods of torture, I have heard about? That I'll send Sally a bouquet of flowers, because she isn't a prejudiced cow after all? That I'll..."

 

"That you'll leave!"

 

John blinked slowly at Sherlock. Repeated the words in his mind. Searched them for a hidden code. Not finding one, snipped his fingers to check if his hearing was affected. It wasn't. John shook his head in confusion. "What do you mean? Is that a hint to leave you alone or..."

 

"No!" Sherlock slapped his knee in frustration. "Don't be daft, John! It's only a matter of time before you will leave, now."

 

John shook his head. As far as he was concerned, Sherlock still didn't make any sense, although a quiet alarm bell had started ringing in John's mind at Sherlock`s last words. No matter that he couldn't relate the sensation of unease to anything concrete. "What the fucking hell are you talking about?! Why should I leave?!"

 

John could pinpoint the second, when Sherlock's temper snapped. He brought his feet down on the floor with a thud and propped his elbows on his thighs as he leaned towards John with a tortured expression on his face. "Everyone of the Yarders knows that I'm transgender now. They are going to use this knowledge as a new source for their insults."

 

John frowned heavily. He could see where this was going and he didn't like it one bit. Still, it was probably better to get this discussion out of the way, before any fears could simmer for much longer on Sherlock's part. "If you think I'm going to leave you, because some arseholes are going to attack you..."

 

"Not me! They are going to attack us.... attack you!" Sherlock jumped up from the couch and moved to stare out of the window. "They are going to imply a lot of nasty things about us. They will speculate about our sex life and suggest that you are only with me, because of my private parts."

 

John almost laughed aloud at that, but bit back the impulse at the last second. Sherlock appeared serious about his worries and the last John wanted to do was make him feel bad about his own feelings. Instead, he got up from his armchair and crossed the distance to the window to stand behind his boyfriend. John brought both of his arms around Sherlock's waist and leaned against his broad back. "They speculated about our sex life, when we didn't even had one. I overheard one officers suggesting that we needed the hands in the fridge for something that didn't involve scientific research." That earned John a retching noise and he chuckled against the silk of Sherlock's dressing shirt. "I don't care what they say. I have a marvelous boyfriend and I'll challenge everyone, who dares implying otherwise." Sherlock kept quiet and John worried his lips with his teeth. "Look, if you don't want to face the Yarders for a while that's fine and doesn't make you a coward. No one should work in an environment, in which he doesn't feel comfortable."

 

At least, that got him a snort, although Sherlock stepped out of John's embrace and turned around to face him, leaning against the window sill. "I'm used to insults, John and... I'm confident of who and what I am, but... you won't be able to endure them for long. You must have come to the conclusion by now and sooner or later..."

 

"Sherlock, stop!" It was a testament to how worked up Sherlock was, that he actually headed John's order and snapped his mouth closed.

 

John rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "As hard as it is for you to understand, I'm not ashamed of you. I wouldn't care if everyone knew that you are transgender and that we are a couple. I have gotten the smartest, maddest and most beautiful boyfriend in the world and I'm not going to give that... to give you up, because some idiots can't wrap their head around it."

 

There was an audible gasp and John watched in fascination as Sherlock's eyes swapped over his face, seeing and analyzing everything there was to him. John allowed the deductions and kept his face as open as possible, until the frantic movements of Sherlock's eyes stopped and he was simply staring at John, his mouth agape in disbelief. "You mean it!"

 

John rolled his eyes and crossed the last distance between them to hug Sherlock to him. "Of course, I do, you idiot."

 

All the tension left Sherlock's body and John had to almost bodily carry him back to the couch, where he arranged them in their favorite position - Sherlock lying down with his head on John's thigh - and pressed a kiss to Sherlock`s forehead. "How did you get the idea in your head that I would leave you over something like this?" John really wanted to know, who's arse he had to kick for this misconception.

 

"You wouldn't have been the first." John gritted his teeth, when Sherlock's words confirmed his suspicions and carded his fingers through thick curls. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

 

Minutes ticked by in which there was only silence and John had almost given up on getting an answer, when Sherlock huffed a sigh. "In my last year at university, we had a leak in our flat, and I had to shower at Cambridge. One of the guys saw me. He told everyone else, Bark was just one of them. They insulted me in any way they could think of... which weren't many, but I wasn't as confident back then as I am now and... I wasn't as good at fighting back as I am today."

 

John was aware that Sherlock's story wasn't chronological and that he hadn't explained about the we yet. He didn't remark on anything though, but kept on massing Sherlock's scalp. Certain that his boyfriend would get to the point in time.

 

"They cornered me once in the toilet and forced me to undress." John grabbed hold of Sherlock's hand and squeezed as his vision was dotted with red spots. "Did they do... I mean..." How the hell did someone ask their boyfriend if he had been raped in the past? Obviously, said boyfriend had to read their minds, because John didn't find a good phrasing, when Sherlock shook his head at the unvoiced question. "They didn't touch me. They just... stared and laughed. Then they left with my clothes. I spent the rest of the day in a cubicle, until the university closed and I was able to sneak to my locker and get my change of clothes."

 

John didn't know what was worse: What these unknown men had done or how emotionless Sherlock talked about the assault. Was Sherlock just distancing himself from his emotions or had he truly overcome that episode of his life? 

 

John didn't dare asking, not even when Sherlock rolled his eyes at him. "I'm fine, John. I worked hard to make sure that I would never be overpowered like this again. Yes, it was horrible back then, but it wasn't... the worst part was, when... Victor left."

 

"Victor? Your boyfriend?"

 

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, at that point we had been together for almost four years, since the end of my last school year. We lived together and... it was nice." No matter what Sherlock used to imply, John wasn't daft enough to miss the momentary pain that flickered through Sherlock's eyes and he cursed the fact that he couldn't hold Sherlock closer to him, in their current position.

 

"I told you once that I went through most of my physical transition, while I attended Cambridge." John nodded at that and Sherlock went on. "Victor was there for me all this time. He supported me in my decisions, along with my family and took care of me after my surgeries. Everyone knew that we were together. The acceptance of same-sex relationships wasn't very high, but Victor never denied that I was his boyfriend."

 

John squashed his rising jealousy at Sherlock's words and scolded himself inwardly for the feeling. There was no use in feeling jealous about a boyfriend, that wasn't in Sherlock`s life any longer. If anything, John should be happy that Sherlock had had someone to support him through parts of his transition. There was no point in regretting that this person hadn't been him. Besides, John highly doubted that Sherlock's story was already over and he feared that he knew where it would lead.

 

"He - Victor - broke up with me, after it became public knowledge that I was transgender. They questioned his sexuality and made intrusive comments about our sex life and... he told me that he couldn't do it any longer." Sherlock`s voice was laced with pain and John hated his ex-boyfriend with a sudden vehemence. No wonder that Sherlock had feared a repeat of the last time, after what Victor had done to him.

 

New anger rose in him, but he ignored it for the time being. It wouldn't help Sherlock in any way, if John got himself worked up about Sherlock's ex-boyfriend. Still, John had a hard time wrapping his head around Victor's logic. "So, he supported you through most of your physical transition, treated you well and..."

 

"He said that he... loved me." Sherlock's voice cracked on the last word and John cursed inwardly at the man, who had hurt his Sherlock to such an extent. "Obviously, he lied or... I wasn't enough..."

 

"Stop!" John silenced Sherlock with a finger pressed to his lips. "I don't know him and maybe he lied or his love wasn't enough, but never doubt that you weren't perfect just the way you were."

 

A tortured chuckle echoed through the room, when Sherlock gazed up at John. "You didn't know me, back then."

 

"Doesn't matter, I know you now and besides, if someone breaks up with someone over peer pressure, then it's certainly their fault and not the other person's." John took a second and then added. "I don't know which kind of love you can just push aside and discount as unimportant in the light of others' opinions, but it's certainly not the kind of love I feel."

 

Sherlock practically froze on the couch. Wide eyes stared up at John and he had to replay his words in his head to figure out what had just happened. Shit, he had just told Sherlock that he loved him and... it was true. It had always been true and John had only chosen not to tell Sherlock yet, because they had only been together for a couple of weeks. Well, screw that. It wasn't as if anything ever went according to plan when it came to Sherlock Holmes.

 

John had just rearranged his tongue in his mouth and readied himself to repeat his declaration of love, when Sherlock beat him to it. "I love you, too."

 

John gaped at him and then smiled as he leaned down to breathe a kiss on Sherlock's upturned lips. "No more doubting our relationship, alright?"

 

Sherlock nodded and stretched his neck to collect another kiss from John. "Alright."

 

The warm feeling in John's chest was so different from all the other emotions he had been faced with today, that he closed his eyes to relinquish the absolute rightness of the moment: They both, cuddled together on the couch, after declaring their love to each other and ready to face the rest of the world: Yes, this was perfect!


End file.
